If you are out to describe the truth, leave elegance to the tailor

[simpletailor]

In exactly one island week, the compound would, in theory, explode into yet another of the parties whatever Q-like forces controlled it seemed to enjoy throwing twice a year.  There would be massive amounts of largely unpalatable food and enough ethanol to take down a herd of Algorian mammoths, and of course there would be citizens in formalwear,

Comments

[get_over_here]

[simpletailor]

My goodness, the man certainly did have need of a good tailor. That yellow monstrosity made a Romulan uniform look like the height of fashion, and the mouthguard was no better. Garak distrusted the man immediately, and not merely because his offered name was that of a stinging Terran arthropod.

He had turned smoothly and not too quickly to look enquiringly at the man, and without a pause to indicate his dismay at Scorpion's current attire, he spoke cordially.

"Well, I would be delighted to discuss offering them, Mr. Scorpion. I am Garak. How may I assist you?"

[get_over_here]

[simpletailor]

"Yes, I can certainly understand why it would be," he agreed with a slight smile that was no less sincere for being completely feigned. He did enjoy a challenge and this would most definitely be a challenge.

"What sort of regular clothing did you have in mind?" he added, pausing work on the tunic and turning his full attention to Scorpion. He did not yet lift his padd to begin to take notes, but he would shortly.

[hiseromenos]

I was always in need of a good tailor, no matter how flush my wardrobe of the time, but in this instance I had a particular errand in mind. My green silk jacket, a gift from the island at some previous time, was laid over one arm, the victim of a fit of Puta's feline pique. It needed mending, and I did not trust myself with the delicate fabric.

It was lucky--or perhaps expected--that Garak was in the market that day, and I called out to him in greeting as I approached.

[simpletailor]

Garak glanced up from twitching a seam into place with a smile of nearly genuine pleasure at Bagoas' greeting. He did enjoy the young man's company and the verbal fencing that nearly always accompanied it would be a remarkable diversion.

"Good afternoon," he replied warmly. "What can I do for you today, my friend?"

Friend was a mutable term and in that respect was remarkably useful, but inasmuch as Garak had friends, Bagoas was indeed one.

[hiseromenos]

I caught sight of a flicker of smile, and pretended not to. "I hoped you could repair some damage for me," I explained. Of course, the company was welcome as well, but not quite enough to be pleased with something like cat-claws in my jacket.

[simpletailor]

Already the fencing had begun and Garak allowed a wholly internal smile this time. Of course he could repair nearly any damage and Bagoas well knew it.

"I will certainly do my best," he replied smoothly, which almost went without saying, but was said anyway, and allowed his expression to alter to interested curiosity. "What sort of damage is it?"

The garment looked to be silk or a similar material, which would complicate repairs, but Garak was confident he could effect a repair in spite of that.

[leftwithmybones]

McCoy has the damn cat in his arms and is carrying it to the Compound to find some kind of food option for it. He's not exactly giddy about the animal, but he guesses that it hasn't been so bad. It's not so bad to have something curling up to him at night and waking him up in the morning like it actually gives a damn about him.

McCoy really ought to give the damn thing a name. "And what are you selling?" McCoy asks, cutting through the market on his way and stopping out of curiosity's sake.

[simpletailor]

Garak glanced up from his study of a hem. It wasn't quite right, but he hadn't determined the best way to correct the unevenness without entirely resewing the hem, which would be quite tiresome.

"Good afternooon, doctor," he greeted Dr. McCoy pleasantly, noting with some internal amusement that the cat had apparently remained in the doctor's care despite his earlier antipathy. "At the moment, I'm not selling anything. Would you care to change that?"

The slightly witty tailor's persona was one of the most familiar.

[leftwithmybones]

"Depends what you're selling," McCoy says, perusing the area and trying to see what little wares the Island as a whole had to offer. It's slightly depressing to think about it, but he's not going to dwell. "I'm not exactly blessed with lots of money either."

[simpletailor]

Dr. McCoy was nearly the stereotype of a gruff doctor, which Garak had seen in some of the less interesting human books, though Garak was not sure about the heart of gold. It would be more useful to have a heart of latinum, but then again either would be impractical in a literal sense.

"I sell whatever clothing my customers may need, within reason. I do make an exception for particularly hideous designs, but so far none have requested any." And if they had, they would have been gently steered away from whatever sartorial catastrophe they had been approaching.

He ignored the statement about a lack of funds. Since most here were in a similar situation, it was less of a concern than it might have been once.